


Deceased Relations

by CravenWyvern



Series: DS Extras [10]
Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Based Off A Server I Played, Gen, Ghost Maxwell, Past Murder, Vargling, WX78 Mentioned, Wigfrid Mentioned, Wolfgang Mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 04:15:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12225570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CravenWyvern/pseuds/CravenWyvern
Summary: A short story based off some events that occured on my server on DST. My little brother played WX78 while I played Maxwell.Reached day 12 before all hell broke loose and it was fantastic





	Deceased Relations

The vargling puffed, tongue lolling out of its mouth as it raced behind him, tiny paws scraping the earth in its hurry. Its eyes still watched him, tracked him, and it yipped, the sound as distorted as everything else in this grey world.

How it could still see him was a mystery and Maxwell stopped, looked down upon the tiny creature as it dug its paws into the dirt and skidded to a halt, blinking white clouded eyes up at him and opening its maw to pant, eyes squinting almost shut.

It almost looked like it was smiling.

Perhaps, if Maxwell could have, he'd have smiled to.

Instead the man leaned over the beast and spoke softly, quiet and sharp “ooh”s and “oh”s, and the vargling slapped its tail against the ground, sitting and looking up at him with its smiling face and hanging tongue. No one could understand him, vargling or otherwise, and even he had a hard time knowing what he was saying, but at least he knew what he was trying to convey.

He hadn't done it around the robot, but as a ghost it was incredibly easy to baby talk a puppy. No anxiety or paranoia, only this hellish landscape and a hound that still followed him, no matter how very dead he was.

Speaking of the robot…

Maxwell straightened up, floating only a few feet off the ground, an odd feeling of nothingness surrounding him as he turned about. He wondered where it had floated off too.

He knew it had tried the touchstone. Had heard the sudden quake and crack of lightening, but he had heard it three times. One for each of them, he presumed.

That thought called to mind something else and he shuddered, remembering the spear that had found its way into his back and out his chest. The force of it had thrown him forward, made him fall and jolt the weapon to settle the flint in between his ribs instead, the pole of it dragging down and digging the sharp point upwards and sending burning pain through his chest and spine as it scraped bone.

The man behind him had actually laughed.

Thank god the attacker had tried to use that flute earlier. Maxwell had almost felt nothing, had felt magical exhaustion dragging him down, and when the spear suddenly was ripped out roughly, to be aimed at his neck and then thrust with almost inhuman force downward, it had only been a brief flash of pain, a pinch.

The camp was burning when he had come to, floating over his own corpse. The robot was already dead, had fallen earlier, and to his surprise so was the woman, slumped over with a tangled, angry expression frozen on her face.

It had taken a moment to see the man, still alive, but not for long. Maxwell remembered the look in his eyes, something wrong, something very wrong and dark, and then the fire finally caught and the man had died screaming.

All that hard work, wasted. All the things he had done for the idiotic robot, how he had to practically hold its hand since the beginning.

But he supposed it wasn't the robots fault. The violent and sudden way it had been thrust from the portal, to almost hit him as it screeched by and roll, then to slam head first into that pine was the only plausible explanation for such odd, childish behavior. He had known something was truly wrong the instant it had started collecting grass and sticks, stripping everything, chanting in its monotone voice the word “torches” the entire time. 

It had then informed him that the darkness was scary and that it didn't want to be alone, hugging a little too tightly onto his arm as night fell.

His luck, stuck with a malfunctioning android, and when those other two showed up it had turned sour all too quickly.

The vargling yipped at him, bringing his gaze back to it, and the pup flipped over onto its back, panting and licking its wet nose, almost begging for a pet. Unfortunately Maxwell could not give it the attention it wanted, but the pup seemed to not realize this. Truly, he should return it to the hounds, a burrow somewhere, but…

He didn't like the idea of being alone.

So he crouched, lowered more specifically, brushing the ground yet feeling nothing, and the pup wiggled, rubbing its back on the ground and thumping its tail loudly.

He couldn't touch it, couldn't do anything except whisper to it, low distorted notes as softly as he could possibly get, and the vargling closed its eyes and continued wagging its tail, waving its paws in the air.

As Maxwell continued to watch it, tried to ignore the grey fuzziness around him, tried to ignore the overbearing pressure of being dead, of the shadows of monstrous entities skittered about, avoiding him yet ever watching, a sound caught his attention.

The vargling flipped itself up, ears ridged and muzzle snapped closed as it trained its eyes on something, or someone, a few feet away from them.

When Maxwell rose up, to look at who had shown up, the shock made him go very still and silent even as the vargling shook itself and trotted over in greeting, panting happily all the while.

Wendy looked up at the ghost of her uncle, staring at him for a long, long moment, and then turned away. Abigail hovered close behind, completely ignoring him even as she whispered and trilled to her sister.

The vargling sat down and tilted its head at them, obviously confused on why its attempt at a greeting was ignored, and it turned its head back to its dead owner, tongue licking its nose and lips before beginning to pant again.

Maxwell only waited a few moments, shocked into stillness at seeing someone else, especially her, on this particular island, before slowly following after, floating over flowers and grass and twigs, the pup trailing right behind him.

She had been lucky, he supposed; those two had never found her, had never been able to hurt her, and for a moment he felt relief in that. He didn't know what they would have done with a child, but hopefully nothing like what they had done to the frightened WX78; Maxwell could still remember how it had cried out for help, voice glitching and distorted, confused and terrified as its arms were taken a hold of and pulled apart. He hadn't been able to get there in time, the full moon having been a distraction to gather resources, and even at a sprint he had only been fast enough to see the murder just happen.

He hadn't known they'd be attacked. Perhaps he should have guessed it would have been so; anyone working with him was fair game after all, no matter how dysfunctional and broken the robot had been.

Hopefully this did not mean someone would come around and kill the girl just because his ghost hung about her. 

Maxwell kept a respectable distance away, floating out of Abigails way as she circled her sister, her whispers loud and yet unclear even in this grey place. Wendy sometimes glanced behind her, watching him before turning her attention to other things, snatching up grass and twigs, berries and carrots as she went.

She didn't hold herself all that properly Maxwell noticed after awhile. Her stumbling was growing more pronounced, the way she held her stomach and scarfed down the berries as if she hadn't eaten in days.

That could be a possibility, he though as they crossed into a heavily wooded forest, butterflies fluttering too quickly by to get caught by the child's shaking hands. Abigail stuck close, whispered less and less, and she looked more and more faded as time went by.

And then the darkness swarmed in around them, sudden to Maxwells eyes but surely encroaching to Wendys, and the sudden flash of her face, looking to Abigail in fear as something shrieked behind her, the clicking of spider legs, struck a chord and Maxwell shot forward, much too close but trying to stay bright, trying to stay lit as she stilled, the glow of his ethereal form enough to keep the shadows away, angry complaints of spiders as they skittered away hurriedly. 

The vargling was asleep already, had no need for light, and Maxwell shifted his attention away from his pet, to Wendy.

She looked terrified, wringing her hands, biting her bottom lip before pressing a hand against her forehead and closing her eyes.

Maxwell shivered, feeling repulsed by how close he was to someone at that moment, her body heat like fire against him, but he stayed still. He could do nothing against the horrors of the dark and dust, but he could keep Charlie away. The least he could do was keep his niece away from her claws, for this one time, this one night, and he focused, concentrated, and felt his form brighten, a small circle around the girl.

It was autumn, early autumn, and the night was quick and short, the morning light just barely brightening the thick forest and its tall pines.

Wendy was not doing too good, rocking on her feet and pressing her hands to her head. Abigail became aggravated, circled around quicker and quicker, twisting and turning as if to try and find the shadows tormenting her sister.

There was nothing Maxwell could do, and the vargling woke up from its sleep with a snap of its jaws, looking this way and that before spotting its ghostly owner as he floated a few feet away from his niece.

He could feel himself lowering, dragging almost against the ground, and he felt faded, in some odd, inarticulable way. Abigail started to avoid going near him, sticking very close to her sister, ever moving.

Wendy still had her eyes closed, seemed to be trying to get her breath back, but a shudder ran through and she slid down in defeat, shoulders hunched as she held her head. The vargling continued to look up at him, panting steadily and licking its nose, every once in awhile thumping its tail against the ground. Eventually it slid down, licking its chops before huffing a tiny canine sigh, eyes flicking upwards to him and then away to Wendy.

Maxwell eyed a monstrous creature nearby, shadows thin and shimmering even as it grinded its teeth, multiple eyes blinking randomly, almost disjointedly. The moment it started to lumber its way toward the girl, spiked legs moving like a centipedes in smooth formation, its sounds wrong and indescribable in reality, Maxwell was up and moving, floating in between the being and his niece, feeling empty and almost unreal as the world wavered and grew even more monochrome.

The thing stopped, stared up at him and snapped its jaws open in a silent scream, splitting its sides and continuing until its top jaw loomed over him.

Then it snapped shut, quivered violently, and stilled, watching him.

It didn't make any move to get closer.

Maxwell would've sighed if he could have, that feeling of tension easing out of him, and he glanced back at Wendy, her form curled up and trembling in the early morning light, shadows of the pines spilling out in patches over her.

There was nothing he, nor Abigail, could do. Absolutely nothing.

He had no stomach but he felt hollow, empty, fading, and he turned his attention back to the Crawling Horror, eyed it for a long moment. Then he turned, floating over to the girls still form, looking down at her. The pup pulled itself up from lying down, stretching its back legs and whining quietly, pale eyes flashing between his ghostly, transparent form and the girl.

Perhaps, Maxwell thought, perhaps it was starting to realize something was wrong.

Perhaps it was realizing it did not have an owner anymore, that the only one truly here was the child.

Wendy didn't move when the hound sidled up to her, wagging its tail slowly. She didn't react when it pressed its side against her, raising its head to glance at Maxwell, before laying down next to her with a small huff, laying its head down in the grass.

Maxwell hovered, watched, and it took a moment for him to notice Abigail. The spirit drifted close, almost touching Wendys back, and then stopped, floating and waiting with empty, lifeless eyes, an empty, lifeless flower wilting with her. He glanced back, to the still frozen monster, and shivered, light fading more as he drifted close, but not too close to his nieces side.

He didn't think he'd be here much longer now. The next island was waiting for him.

Perhaps he'd meet up with the robot again. Or perhaps he'd die again, by the hands of the viking and strongman.

Or perhaps something new will happen.

Perhaps. Perhaps not.

Wendy didn't move, had stopped trembling, and Maxwell could see a small hand in the varglings fur, stroking and tracing the small pups backbone, which made the creature's tail start wagging wildly again, a tongue slipping out of its jaws as it closed its eyes.

When he looked up, away from his former pet getting attention, the Crawling Horror was gone.

Abigail continued to float close, tiny whispers under her breath, and Maxwell trembled, feeling the color drain ever more into black and white, the grey seeping away. He had no more time.

Carefully, slowly, he floated away from the child's side and drifted away, directionless as the world and himself started to fade.

The vargling did not follow him this time, and with that Maxwell was gone.


End file.
